Family Practice (18 page)

The hell with principles, she told herself firmly, and went into Dorothy's office. I'm doing this for a reason, not just to snoop. She sat at Dorothy's desk and looked at the stack of medical books on one corner with bookmarks sticking out. She opened drawers. Neat, as she'd known they would be. Stationery, envelopes, prescription pads, pens, correspondence. She quickly flipped through letters; none seemed relevant. Canceled checks, filed in boxes. This was ridiculous. She wouldn't know anything important even if she found it.

She went through the connecting door into Taylor's office. Originally, these two small rooms had been one, used to store linens in the hospital days. A small desk, a recliner, and a file cabinet. She continued to ignore the voice in her head nagging that she had no business being here. Just hurry before he comes back.

She started going through desk drawers. They weren't neat like Dorothy's, but neither were they any more interesting. The bottom right-hand drawer was locked. Well, well. What might be in here? The desk had belonged to her father. She had no idea what he might have kept in it, if anything, but she did know where there used to be a key.

She trotted upstairs and nipped into the sunroom. The window ledges had storage places beneath that were used for music. Kneeling at the south window, she raised the hinged top and removed books—Wagner, Bach, Telemann, Scarlatti—and loose sheet music, then ran her fingers along the edges at the bottom.

The key was there, along with some dust. If Dorothy had known about the dust, she'd have seen to it immediately. Back in Taylor's office, Ellen slipped the small key into the lock and turned it. The lock made the tiniest click. Heart kicking up a beat, she slid open the drawer. Inside were file folders, two of them. One held bank statements and canceled checks; the other was full of correspondence.

She opened it out on the desk and read the note on top:
It's all going to work out fine. Just come up with the money.
It was signed with the initial H. Below the note was a sheet of paper filled with figures.

Feeling that any moment someone was going to demand to know what she was doing, she flipped through bank statements. They meant nothing to her. Money deposited, checks written. Receipt for safe deposit rental.

There must be a reason Taylor kept this in a locked drawer, but if there was anything incriminating here, she wasn't smart enough to spot it. Wait a minute. At the back, photographs. Aerial photographs. Four of them. And one of them— She squinted closely. A section of her land? Couldn't be. From the air, hills and trees all looked alike. She laid them out side by side on the desk.

A car came up the driveway. He's back!

Heart ticking away in her throat, she shuffled papers together, stacked the photos, shoved the file back in the drawer, and twisted the lock. She slipped the key in her pocket and scurried out.

The front door opened. “Hello?”

Not Taylor, Marlitta. “Up here.” Ellen hurried to the stairs and trotted down.

“Where's Taylor?”

“I don't know. He left a couple hours ago.”

Marlitta seemed as haggard as Taylor had. Ellen thought they probably all had that same pinched, worried expression. Marlitta, in working attire—a dark skirt, a tailored white blouse, and sensible shoes—was put together with less care than usual. There was a smudge on the skirt, and the blouse was unevenly tucked in. Ellen was looking—really looking—at all her siblings, and had the bizarre thought that none of them looked like she'd thought. “Shouldn't you be at the clinic?”

“Yes. I'm on the way. I stopped by to see how you were. Are you all right? You look a little flushed.”

“I'm fine.” Stopped by to see how she was? Ellen couldn't ever remember that happening before.

“Also, I need some papers Dorothy has.”

Oh. That made more sense.

“All the stuff about the offices. The deed and everything.”

“Wouldn't that be at the clinic?”

“I can't find it. That's why I thought she might have it here. Probably in her office.” Marlitta started up the stairs.

Ellen trailed along behind.

“Could you bring me a cup of coffee?” Marlitta sat down at the desk. “I'm feeling a little dragged out. Caffeine would be welcome.”

Obediently, Ellen trudged back down the stairs. In the kitchen, a little bell went off in her head. Marlitta had just gotten her out of the way. She poured a cup and dashed back with it.

Marlitta was simply sitting at the desk with such sadness on her face that Ellen was ashamed of herself.

“Here.” She placed the cup near Marlitta's elbow. “Did you find what you wanted?”

“No.” Tears glistened in Marlitta's eyes, and she blinked. “Maybe it is at the clinic. Everything's all topsy-turvy.” She took a sip from the cup and then rubbed her forehead. “Ellen—”

Ellen waited.

“Listen—it's good that you're staying here.” Marlitta hesitated. “You can keep an eye on Taylor.”

Ellen got a queasy feeling. She was beginning to feel a little sorry for Taylor.

“Who knows what he might do?”

Like steal the family silver?

“It would be better if he didn't—search through Dorothy's papers and things.”

And just how am I supposed to stop him? Come to think of it, he probably has more legal right that any of the rest of us.

Marlitta got wearily to her feet and tucked in her blouse more snugly. “I'll have to take some things back with me.”

“Marlitta, you can't. That would be like stealing or something. I don't think you should—”

“I'm not taking anything personal. Only records that belong at the clinic.” Marlitta stuffed folders and papers in her briefcase. She peered around as though concerned she was missing something, or wanted to include something she dare not.

“Marlitta—” Ellen had the uneasy feeling Marlitta shouldn't be doing this; and besides, Ellen really wanted to know what was in those files. Why hadn't she thought to look through them while she had the chance?

Marlitta put the medical books back on the bookshelf. “I have to get back.” She picked up her briefcase.

At the front door, she turned. “Ellen, be careful what you say to the police.”

“What do you mean?”

“There's no need to mention the little disagreement that Willis had with her.”

“Little disagreement? You mean the new office building?”

“It was only a misunderstanding.”

Right. The little misunderstanding had made Willis furious. Ellen really didn't know the whole of it, only that Willis thought the offices were too crowded and they needed more space. He had a new building all picked out. Dorothy had squashed the whole idea.

“There's no reason the police need to know about things that should be kept in the family,” Marlitta said.

Of course. United front. No need to let a little thing like murder change anything.

“You do understand, don't you, Ellen?” Marlitta shifted the briefcase to her other hand. She seemed to be pleading with Ellen, but for what, Ellen didn't understand.

“We have our differences sometimes,” Marlitta said. “But we're a family. We stick together.”

“Yes.”

Marlitta opened the door, waited as though she wanted to say something more, and then mushed off.

As Ellen closed the door, she remembered the time Marlitta had needed money from Dorothy to pay off some debts for Brent. Was that really what she was asking her not to spill to the cops?

How did everything get to be such a mess? And with Dorothy gone, how were they going to get out of it?

She ripped a paper towel from the roll in the kitchen, blew her nose, and told herself it was time to grow up. She'd just have to figure out for herself what to do. And one thing she ought to do was drive out to her own place and see if the plumbing was being worked on.

*   *   *

A van sat in her driveway, along with a battered Toyota and a pickup. Two men, stripped to the waist and sweating in the heat, were digging up pipes. Mounds of dirt were heaped in a row along the trench.

“Morning,” Ackerbaugh the plumber said. He rubbed a forearm across his forehead, drove the spade in the dirt, and rested a foot on it. His red hair gleamed like fire in the sun.

“How's it going?”

“With all this rain, haven't been able to do much. Might take longer than I thought.”

Of course. With everything else, what did a little longer matter? She had a theory, anyway, that everything took twice as long as the estimate. “How much longer?” she asked.

“Might be as long as two weeks. That's if the rain lets up and we can get to it.”

No, no, no. Tears threatened again. Any little thing, seemed like, made her cry. Damn it, where's your backbone? “Do your best,” she said, and tramped toward the house, rummaging through her purse for the key.

“Well, Ellen, looks like you got yourself a problem here.”

She turned and faced Harlen Deitz. “Nothing that can't be fixed.”

“That so?” He had his feet, in cowboy boots, planted wide on her gravel driveway, big fat cigar in one hand. Late forties, jeans, and western-style shirt, dark hair going gray around the ears, flat gray eyes. “Looks like it might be an expensive problem.” He stuck the cigar in his mouth and smirked around it.

“I'm busy, Harlen. What do you want?”

“Just came by to offer my condolences.” His voice rasped with the ravages of tobacco.

“Thanks. Anything else?”

“You're mighty snippy to a neighbor who's trying to be friendly.” He studied the lit end of the cigar, then flicked his gray eyes over her. They had the color and chill of a winter dawn.

She stiffened her spine, glad of the plumbers' presence.

“Thought any more about my offer?” he asked softly.

“I never thought about it in the first place. I'm not selling.” He owned farmland adjoining her property and wanted her land. She didn't know why; it was only twenty-five acres, much of it wooded and unsuitable for farming.

“Think it over,” he said. “I'll give you a good price. Young lady like you, not a good place for you to be all alone. Anything could happen way out here. I'll be checking with you.” He crunched away down the driveway.

No way would she sell, not after she'd worked this hard. For sure, not now. She wouldn't have to. Unless Dorothy had done something none of them knew about and fixed it so the money was tied up some way.

Head down, she dug through her purse for keys as she scuffed to the house.

“Who's your friend?”

Her head snapped up. Adam stood in the open doorway. Her throat went dry, her heart went crazy. She stomped to the house, swept past him, and banged the door shut behind her. She leaned against it. “What are you doing here?”

“Trapping you.”

He looked good. The same, no change. Heavy jaw in need of a shave, thick, dark, curly hair in need of a haircut. Amusement in the hazel eyes. Maybe a line or two that wasn't there before.

“You hang up when I call. Tear off when I get near. If at first you don't succeed, leap in with both feet.”

“How'd you get in?”

“Door was unlocked.”

“It was not.”

He grinned. Confident, full of himself. Dr. Adam Sheffield, presumptuous prick.

“How'd you know I'd be here?”

“You live here. I drove out. You didn't answer. The door was unlocked. I stuck my head in, called hello. I phoned Nadine. She said you were at Dorothy's. I started to leave. You drove in.” He looked at her, steady and long. No doubts. Sure. Arrogant.

She shook her head to stop the thoughts spinning around. “What do you want?”

“You.”

A giant fist grabbed her somewhere in the region of her mid-section. “Listen, it didn't work. We split. Let's just leave it at that.”

“Is that what you want, Ellie?”

“Yes!” She studied the way his black hair curled toward his collar, remembered the feel of his body beneath her hands.

He folded his arms, shook his head slowly, smiled. “It's not what I want.”

“Just go, Adam. Leave me alone. I can't handle this. Not on top of Dorothy and—everything.” The words clogged in her throat.

“Ellie—” He reached toward her.

She scuttled aside.

He dropped his arms and ran a hand through his hair, making the curls stand up. “Ellie—” His voice was soft and sweet. “I know it's hard. Dorothy's death. Let me help.”

“Would you just go, please? Just get out of here.”

The way he looked at her made her face hot. Until this moment, she'd thought she never wanted to see him again. Too much pain. She couldn't go through it again. Just seeing him made the scabs start bleeding. To her horror, she felt tears spilling down her face.

“Ellie—” He put his arms around her.

She'd forgotten how good that felt. Memories tumbled around like wind-blown leaves: the two of them hanging out at the student union, late nights studying for exams, picnics by the river, sweaty romps in bed. For a moment, she leaned into him, then she stiffened and pulled away.

“Look, Adam, everything is just awful right now. I can't handle—”

With a thumb, he rubbed tears from her cheek. “Whatever I can do, Ellie. Just ask me.”

“Go.” She shoved against his chest. “I can't think. Just go.”

“I'm going.” He held up both hands, palms out. “Right now. But just listen, if you need anything call me. Anything.” He brushed a light kiss on her forehead and murmured, “I'll be back.”

The arrogant prick. Did he think he could just waltz in here and she'd say all was forgiven? She'd fantasized this moment a million times. Part of her wanted to hang onto him and sob, “Just don't leave me again.”

She tramped to the kitchen and yanked a paper towel from the holder. The entire roll unraveled. “Damn it!” She rerolled it raggedly and with care tore off one piece, blew her nose, and threw the towel in the trash under the sink.